[Hayato usually wouldn't let himself be fed, so this is a rare kind of moment. Instead of fretting so much and puzzling over it's meaning-- haha, who is he now? Hayato?-- Takeshi decides to enjoy it for what it is.
Simple, nice. Homey.
It feels like home here in a way that... well, only home could. Dinner with Hayato every night, laughing while they fought for the remote, losing covers to his twisted pretzel way of sleeping, getting yelled at for using up all the hot water (maa, well Hayato wouldn't let him take baths at the public springs in the onsen anymore, ever since finding out those were a group, naked activity... foreigners were so odd!)... all of that felt something like home. A new home, a different home; but all he had between here and loneliness.
Takeshi Yamamoto was Very Japanese.
And one year later, Somarium still wasn't Japan.
It was hard to be here, honestly. He missed his dad, school, baseball meets. He missed commercials about chicken and beer, tossing dried beans out the door to ward away demons, fireworks in yukata in the summer.
But he could handle it, really. He could, so long as Hayato was here and eating food off of his chopsticks and insisting he do the dishes.
Takeshi Yamamoto liked doing the dishes. It was domestic, it was work, it was a family chore.
He liked thinking of Hayato as family.
He even liked this really awful teriyaki chicken, haha and didn't even have the heart to tell Hayato that teriyaki chicken is actually a Western dish.
Taking another big bite of it, he swallowed, then laughed a little.]
Saa, that's only fair, right? Since Hayato cooked.
[Hayato caught himself in the act of snorting, not expecting to be thanked for anything he cooked which someone was then forced to eat, but coming from Takeshi, well... he bowed his head a little, trying to minimize the exposure of his flushed face as he accepted the thanks and muttered an awkward]
You're welcome.
[And there was another first. But Hayato wasn't leaving anything half-finished, not this overworked meal or the promise he made with himself to try not to snap, at least for the duration of the meal. Leaving the dishes was another story. Takeshi had basically just volunteered, though, so he wasn't going to feel bad about it. Takeshi should wash the dishes, since he made the food although by the same logic, he should be washing dishes every night, but eh. Then they'd be eating off disposable plates, so.]
Idiot. [There. A little jibe at the end made it less embarrassing and more comfortable, because it was familiar. Glancing back up, Hayato reached for the sake, judging that it was always empty. He topped off Takeshi's cup before taking the rest, shame to waste]
[Taking a lukewarm sip, Hayato glanced down at his obscured reflection in the miso, asking offhandedly] Do you want the first bath? [Hayato's meticulously orchestrated dinner was not part of their usual routine. Usually washing up came first, after Takeshi came home from work or practice and before he made food, so Hayato was just trying to get things back on track, get them back to normal, in a place where he was comfortable, listening to the none too subtle sounds of Takeshi moving upstairs, the hum of the water rushing through the pipes, while Hayato thumbed through the Dreamberry or speed-read his summer reading. Luckily Takeshi's showers were only a fraction of his. Tch, then again, it's not like he had much to worry about, with that hair.
[If he was being honest, Hayato had actually worked out an average time for Takeshi's showers and when they exceeded the time typically allotted based on the estimate, that's when Hayato headed upstairs and griped through the door about refusing to take a cold shower because some people are too busy daydreaming about baseball, but it didn't take much to get him to back off - just the suggestion of the Takeshi coming out or any reference to him being wet and/or naked and the subject was not only dropped, but immediately cut off from future discussion ("SHUT UP AND DROWN!").
[And when the thought occurred to him just then at the table, Hayato choked on his own piece of chicken]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-08-01 02:19 am (UTC)Simple, nice. Homey.
It feels like home here in a way that... well, only home could. Dinner with Hayato every night, laughing while they fought for the remote, losing covers to his twisted pretzel way of sleeping, getting yelled at for using up all the hot water (maa, well Hayato wouldn't let him take baths at the public springs in the onsen anymore, ever since finding out those were a group, naked activity... foreigners were so odd!)... all of that felt something like home. A new home, a different home; but all he had between here and loneliness.
Takeshi Yamamoto was Very Japanese.
And one year later, Somarium still wasn't Japan.
It was hard to be here, honestly. He missed his dad, school, baseball meets. He missed commercials about chicken and beer, tossing dried beans out the door to ward away demons, fireworks in yukata in the summer.
But he could handle it, really. He could, so long as Hayato was here and eating food off of his chopsticks and insisting he do the dishes.
Takeshi Yamamoto liked doing the dishes. It was domestic, it was work, it was a family chore.
He liked thinking of Hayato as family.
He even liked this really awful teriyaki chicken, haha and didn't even have the heart to tell Hayato that teriyaki chicken is actually a Western dish.
Taking another big bite of it, he swallowed, then laughed a little.]
Saa, that's only fair, right? Since Hayato cooked.
[A grin, before,]
Thank you for the meal!
no subject
Date: 2012-08-06 02:53 am (UTC)You're welcome.
[And there was another first. But Hayato wasn't leaving anything half-finished, not this overworked meal or the promise he made with himself to try not to snap, at least for the duration of the meal. Leaving the dishes was another story. Takeshi had basically just volunteered, though, so he wasn't going to feel bad about it. Takeshi should wash the dishes, since he made the food
although by the same logic, he should be washing dishes every night, but eh. Then they'd be eating off disposable plates, so.]Idiot. [There. A little jibe at the end made it less embarrassing and more comfortable, because it was familiar. Glancing back up, Hayato reached for the sake, judging that it was always empty. He topped off Takeshi's cup before taking the rest, shame to waste]
[Taking a lukewarm sip, Hayato glanced down at his obscured reflection in the miso, asking offhandedly] Do you want the first bath? [Hayato's meticulously orchestrated dinner was not part of their usual routine. Usually washing up came first, after Takeshi came home from work or practice and before he made food, so Hayato was just trying to get things back on track, get them back to normal, in a place where he was comfortable, listening to the none too subtle sounds of Takeshi moving upstairs, the hum of the water rushing through the pipes, while Hayato thumbed through the Dreamberry or speed-read his summer reading. Luckily Takeshi's showers were only a fraction of his. Tch, then again, it's not like he had much to worry about, with that hair.
[If he was being honest, Hayato had actually worked out an average time for Takeshi's showers and when they exceeded the time typically allotted based on the estimate, that's when Hayato headed upstairs and griped through the door about refusing to take a cold shower because some people are too busy daydreaming about baseball, but it didn't take much to get him to back off - just the suggestion of the Takeshi coming out or any reference to him being wet and/or naked and the subject was not only dropped, but immediately cut off from future discussion ("SHUT UP AND DROWN!").
[And when the thought occurred to him just then at the table, Hayato choked on his own piece of chicken]